


Cold and Coats

by di93



Series: Inquisitorial Enigma [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Pre-Relationship, dorian complaining about the cold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-10 21:02:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7006777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/di93/pseuds/di93
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian complains about the cold, and Kaaras is Mr. Helpful as always.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold and Coats

Cold and Coats

 

“Does the cold not bother any of you? Truly? I cannot fathom how you stand it,” Dorian grumbled. He tried to shiver in the most dignified way possible and huddled as close as he could get to the campfire without sitting directly on it. Meanwhile, Blackwall and Varric had already taken to ignoring his whining. They’d already heard it all over the last few weeks, traipsing about the Hinterlands as the Inquisition and the free mages tried to come up with a feasible plan for sealing the Breach, and the Tevinter refused to be reasonable and actually wear something weather-appropriate. And since the Herald frowned upon infighting—the only time Varric and Blackwall had ever witnessed an emotion display itself on the Herald’s face—they’d taken to tuning him out once the sun set and the temperatures dropped.

The fact that Kaaras didn’t respond to Dorian’s whining either wasn’t surprising in the slightest. These three had mostly come to the same assumption: unless it directly related to the task at hand, the Herald tuned them out completely. After all, he never spoke unless it was relevant to whatever mission they were on. Even if they asked him a direct question, it was likely that he would brush them off in a way that was too polite to be offensive but too dismissive to remotely friendly. They had assumed was only still with the Inquisition because the Seeker and the spymaster would hunt him down and drag him back by the horns otherwise, but after following him around for weeks, helping feed refugees and deliver notes from dead lovers and placing flowers on graves and every other task that ultimately could have no motive aside from pure kindness, they all knew that couldn’t possibly be the case.

It was confusing. Varric had long since accepted the dichotomy between the Herald’s frigid personality and overwhelming kindness, even if he was still trying to puzzle out just why the man seemed to have such a polarized personality—a difficult task since the Herald pointedly refused to even acknowledge any personal questions, let alone answer them. Even the eyes of a writer were mostly useless since the Herald was about as expressive as a rock. As for the Warden traveling with them, Blackwall was still caught off guard more often than not when the Herald volunteered to help with whatever task, but he was content to help as well and not ask too many questions, even if curiosity was always scratching at the back of his mind. After all, he had his own secrets and reasons to want to help.

Dorian, however, was still flummoxed and decidedly not ready to give up on unravelling the mystery—he needed to do _something_ to keep his mind off of the freezing cold, and Haven didn’t have anything that could pass as a library even by Southern standards. After all, he still recalled the almost warm nature of the Herald in Haven shortly after their return from castle. Of course, then the Herald had snubbed his offer of drinks in the Tavern, but that was hardly surprising since they ended up leaving for the Hinterlands again the following morning. The man tasked with closing the Breach wouldn’t have time to drink, no matter how much he deserved a night or two off.

So, when Dorian suddenly found himself almost drowning in fabric while huddled next to the fire, he was so startled that he nearly jumped into the flames.

“What are you—”

“Take it for now,” Kaaras replied, before heading back towards his tent, coatless. Dorian stood, taking off the coat again even as he immediately missed the all-encompassing warmth. Surely the coat was enchanted to be that warm. It couldn’t have just been from the other man’s body heat.

“I don’t need your coat. Besides, it smells like wet druffalo and clashes with my robes. I may not enjoy freezing, but I do have _standards_ ,” he sniffed, and he wasn’t sure if it was a trick of the light or if Kaaras was actually wearing a small smile.

“Blue’s not your color either, but your lips have already turned a shade. Just keep it for the night. I’ll find some kind of scented soap in Redcliffe tomorrow to make up for the smell. No one else is going to see you at camp anyway.”

“I’ll have you know that I look dashing in blue,” Dorian grumbled back as he pulled the huge coat back over his shoulders, giving in. It was too warm to refuse, and he already smelled like wet dog anyway. Why not throw in a little druffalo for the sake of variety?

Kaaras turned back to his tent and tried not to think about how much he wished he could sit next to the fire and be surrounded by the warmth of the Tevinter’s personality. He didn’t talk to the other mage much, purposefully, but Andraste’s ass did he want to. (Which was entirely the problem, of course.)

While Kaaras didn’t involve himself in conversation unless pressed, he always listened, and where he normally found himself to be lacking in charm—conveniently, he reminded himself—he was as charming as a troll next to the Altus. Dorian never lacked for words or wit, and Kaaras found himself desperately wanting to befriend the man, even knowing that it would be a terrible decision. After all, Kaaras didn’t have any intention of staying with the Inquisition longer than necessary. He would close the rifts and the Breach, and he would help all those he could in the meantime, but he wouldn’t stick around long enough to put himself or the Inquisition in danger. And becoming close to those involved with the Inquisition was just asking for trouble.

But he was able to convince himself that it was safe enough to help out, when he could, like taking extra brakes since, while Dorian was obviously quite fit, he wasn’t quite accustomed to hiking across southern Thedas. Or giving up space in his pack to marinate meat as they traveled so that the stews would be less bland and everyone’s moods would be far better the following day. Or by collecting all the embrium in the Hinterlands in order to improve the potency of the lyrium potions that Dorian tended to use once his mana reserves started to dwindle after too long a battle or too many days on the road. (Kaaras himself would tend to resort to slicing throats and stabbing chests with his staff blade rather than consume the potions himself in order to conserve their resources. He’d only used one so far when one of the rifts by Master Dennet’s farm came to life as they were escorting a druffalo and both Varric and Blackwall were knocked out.) Or, most easily, by letting Dorian use his coat when the temperatures at night became too cold for the human to otherwise withstand without wasting his mana on heating spells.

He owed Dorian, after all. While the rest of the Inquisition viewed the Tevinter with suspicion, Kaaras wouldn’t forget what occurred at Redcliffe. Couldn’t forget, rather. If it hadn’t been for Dorian, he would have been erased from history, the “Elder One” would have succeeded, and the world as they knew it would have ended. He had no way of convincing everyone else that Dorian was not only trustworthy but also a hero, and there was no way that he could repay Dorian for what he’d done, but he was more than happy to help in what meager ways he could.

So, Kaaras convinced himself that he stole glances at Dorian because he wanted to keep an eye out for the other mage and that it had nothing to do with the fact that the man really did look positively regal in blue or that he cast spells with such grace and power that it left Kaaras wishing that he could watch the man fight for days on end.

Sitting heavily down on his bedroll, Kaaras sighed.

He was being ridiculous, he knew. Soon, he would either finally die trying to seal the Breach, or he would leave once the Breach and rifts were gone, Kaaras reminded himself as he untied his hair and ran a hand through the strands. He would return to his solitude, and he would never see Dorian or the others again. If anything, that was the best way he could repay the man: by not getting involved. Kaaras continued combing his fingers through his hair as he sorted out his thoughts and locked his feelings back down.

After all, the plan hadn’t changed. It was delayed somewhat due to the explosion at the Conclave, but he would still return to the Free Marches on his own. He would continue life the way it was before the Valo-Kas, before the Inquisition, before Redcliffe. He would leave before anyone else was hurt because of him. He would leave before he became too comfortable and left himself open for attack.

No matter how handsome and charming Dorian was, Kaaras wouldn’t get close. He would continue surviving, and would block out his loneliness by helping those he could. With a Ben-Haasrath roaming the camps back at Haven, this was especially no time to get sentimental or sloppy.

Finally tying his hair back in place, Kaaras fell back against his bedroll and closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep for at least a few hours. He was safe enough for the moment and completely unaware of Dorian’s internal struggle: snuggle into the warm coat more and spend the next day pretending that he wouldn’t be sniffing his own robes because of the decidedly better-than-a-druffalo scent that was rubbing off on them from Kaaras’s coat, or throw the blighted fashion disaster into the fire and freeze to death.


End file.
